


Grey

by kmsmitty



Category: Topp Dogg (Band)
Genre: Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmsmitty/pseuds/kmsmitty
Summary: Hansol struggles. Byungjoo refuses to give up.





	Grey

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of another chapter of my Colors series. Trigger warning for mental health issues, eating disorders, and self harm. Also, widely based on my own experiences/relationships. Don't be afraid to reach out and get help. Do not suffer in silence. You are worthy of the air in your lungs. I promise you.

It was Sunday. Worst day of the week, hands down. It was raining. This fact actually made the day better. The sky was grey and sad, and so was I, so I didn't have to feel like I was wasting a day in bed. Everyone knows rainy days are nap days.

Except I wouldn't sleep today. I had been asleep for 63 of the past 72 hours, and I knew that today would begin the insomnia cycle. I would be up for at least 3 days, because fuck me, that's why.

I looked at my long, greasy, black hair. It had been 3 days since I had showered. I hadn't eaten in that time, and probably would find sleep again before I would commit to food. I sighed, looked up at the ceiling, and asked a god I wasn't sure I believed in for the ten thousandth time, "Why am I like this?"

"Because you have a chemical imbalance in your brain that the idiot doctors can't seem to regulate!" I heard him call out from the bathroom. My angel. My light in darkness. The man who kept me from drowning. My Byungjoo. My sweet, unburdened, unjaded, beautiful Byungjoo.

"Love me!" I squawked at him from the bed. He peeked in the room, and I made grabby hands at him like a toddler that wants picked up. He shook his head, "Not until you eat first." I scowled at him and threw the covers back over my head. Fine by me, buddy. I'm like a camel. I can go weeks without affection. I don't even like myself, remember?

I could hear him shuffle in, and I prepared for what he was about to do. As he reached for the comforter, I grabbed either side and held it down as he tried to fling it off me. "It's been 3 years, Joo. I am on to you."

"Yes, but not in the way I'd like," he smirked as he leaned under the blanket, making eyes at me. Those eyes that kept me rooted to this plane of existence. Though I so badly wanted to leave it.

"You're a naughty boy," I let out a huff as I threw the blanket off, trying to smile, but it seemed the muscles in my face had forgotten how. It must have looked like I was in pain, because Byungjoo's eyes grew wide, and he sat down beside me, taking my hand.

"I'm okay, baby. I'm just tired. My body doesn't know how to move just yet." He gave me a small smile, a knowing glance. How or why he had decided to stick it out with me, I had no idea, but I was grateful. I hoped he could feel that.

"Sollie? Baby? Did you hear me?" Shit. No. Quick, play it cool. "Yeah. Sure." Byungjoo blinked at me. "Did you really just agree to eat? That's huge, baby."

Fuuuuuuck. I have got to learn to pay attention. Too late now. If you take it back, he'll know you weren't listening. Damn it.

"I'm so proud of you, baby. I'll be right back."

He was going to cook for me. And I was going to have to pretend to eat. I had 20 minutes to prepare myself for my performance. It wasn't that he couldn't cook. In the beginning, I would eat on a regular schedule. Those were happy times. I met him in a manic upswing. I had gone to a dance workshop, and he had almost broken my nose doing a backflip during practice. He was so sorry. It was so precious.

But then the depression came back. And my bad relationship with food came with it. You see, eating keeps you alive. So if you don't, eventually it'll kill you. I know. Dramatic. Drawn out. But easy to hide, easy to endure, especially when you never feel hungry anymore. It doesn't help when you have the added mentality of thinking you're unworthy of food. So now when I do eat, it's all garbage. All empty calories. Because a carrot shouldn't have to give its life for mine. I am not worth that.

The thunder and lightning had picked up. The sky was so grey that it almost had a purple tint to it. Maybe a tornado would rip me out of Byungjoo's life, and he could have happier days. He deserves them.

"Baby, can you sit at the table, or do you want me to bring you a plate?" he called from downstairs. Decisions, decisions. Maybe if I got up now, he'd let me lay the rest of the day...but I also don't want him getting ideas about me making a breakthrough...

Byungjoo appeared in the doorway, and I flinched backwards in bed. I looked up at him from under my helmet of hair and saw him pull his lip into his mouth. He tilted his head to the side and spoke, "You took too long. I had to save you from your inner conflict. We can eat up here. It's alright."

I scooted over in bed to make room for him. He handed me the plates while he climbed on, throwing the blanket over both of us. I handed him his plate back, and I nestled in close. I was leeching him of all body heat, willing my limbs to come back to life.

"I made your favorite. It will be too hard for you to ignore, and it's impossible to make it look like you've eaten more than you have." I frowned at him. "Oh, don't give me that look, Hansol. You're right. It's been 3 years. I'm on to you, too."

I should have known. He'd watched me do it hundreds of times at family gatherings. The trick is to keep your fork and knife constantly moving. And talk. Keep talking. You talk and you cut and you shuffle the food from side to side, and it looks like you've eaten 3/4 of it, but you haven't taken a single bite. When that doesn't work, you claim that working third shift throws off your eating schedule, so you'll take it home. And then throw it in the fridge to rot for months before you remember it's there and throw it out. Ah, the fridge. Where good intentions go to die.

I looked down at my spaghetti and gulped. It was good. I knew I would love it. I knew my taste buds would sing. But I was terrified. I hadn't eaten in so long that I knew my body would reject it. I knew he had tried to give me a small portion. Mine wasn't even a third of what he had on his plate. But it was still too much. My body wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Baby? Please try. I know it's hard, but please. For me. Just try," he pleaded. I felt tears well up in my eyes, but I choked them down. I wasn't willing to ruin this. He had tried for me, so I could try for him.

I leaned over and grabbed his free hand. I lifted his hand to my lips and kissed each knuckle, my thumbs tracing over the skin of his fingers. Byungjoo looked down at me and kissed my cheek. He picked up my fork and handed it back to me. I swallowed hard and nodded.

~

"Sollie? Baby, I'm sorry. Let me in?" I could hear him drop to his knees. I knew what he was going to do. The boy remembered everything I ever told him. He remembered the trick I used to pull as a child when my mom would be in the bathroom with the door closed. I would stick my hands in the crack of space between the bottom of the door and the floor and wiggle my fingers at her until she gave up and let me in.

Sure enough, I looked at the door to see his fingers doing the same. "Byungjoo, your fingers look like spider legs. It's fucking terrifying." I heard him squeak and shudder against the door. "Baby? Let me in."

"The door isn't even locked, Byungjoo. Turn the damn handle."

I heard the door creak as he opened it. He slowly walked in, trying not to startle me too much. My nerves were shot. I hate Sundays.

"Oh, baby no. Baby no. Oh, God," he wailed as he fell to his knees beside me. He took my hands in his, as he rocked back and forth. I didn't say anything. There was nothing to be said. Not by him. Not by me. Not at all.

I looked down at the mess I had made. Quick work for 10 minutes alone. I'm sure part of him knew better than to leave me alone, but it had been over a year. I had been doing better. For me, it was always quality, not quantity.

Byungjoo grabbed the scissors that I had discarded by my feet, and threw them into the hallway. He scooted closer to me as he sobbed. I felt nothing. Untrue. I felt contempt for him. Because he could see that he was tied to a cement block thrown into the ocean, and he stayed. For what? For this? For patterns drawn in my own blood down my legs? He was a fool.

"Baby, those are new. Those are deep. Why?" he choked out in between desperate gasps for air. I looked at him and answered as bluntly as I could. "The old spots don't bleed anymore. They don't hurt. The nerves are dead. It has to bleed. I have to feel it. It doesn't count if I don't feel it, Byungjoo." He sobbed and pushed me out of the way of the toilet. I heard him heave, and I moved to sit on the ledge of the tub.

When he had calmed down enough, he sat back against the wall and stared at me. Just stared. I glared back at him. How dare he? Hadn't I given him enough reasons to leave? Why is he still here?!

"I'm not leaving you, Hansol. I won't give up," he whispered.

"GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD, BYUNGJOO!!!!" I screamed at him. He didn't even flinch. He actually scoffed at me. Motherfucker. Who do you think you are?

Byungjoo got up and flipped me into the tub. I landed hard, smacking my elbow on the faucet as I connected with the floor. He turned the water on, and held me down.

"Goddamn it, Byungjoo. I still have my clothes on. I'm gonna beat the shit out of you," I snarled. He didn't let go, though. He just reached to test the temperature, his eyes staring holes in mine.

"Yeah, well, I'll hit you back. And your clothes could use a wash, too. You've had them on for days," he replied back, with no emotion.

I watched as the tub filled with water. A voice in my head told me that you only need two inches of water to drown. I shook my head, trying to clear it. Remember who you are. Remember who you are.

"F-fuck, J-Joo. I'm so s-sorry," I wailed as the gravity of what I had done came crashing down on my head. I looked down at my legs. Shit. That one could probably use stitches. You bout hit bone on that one, you fucking idiot. There were 2 on my left leg. 4 on my right. In angles and places that were going to be tough to explain away. Fuck.

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to yourself, asshole. You make all this progress, and you throw it away everytime. I know there's a part of your brain that likes being sick, but Goddamn it, Hansol. It's hard to be the only one trying to scream loud enough to drown that part out."

It was blunt. It hurt. But he was right. Byungjoo was always right. He wanted me alive more than I wanted death. And I needed reminded of that.

"Will you get in with me?" I sniffed, starting to peel off my shirt and shorts as I sat in the tub.

"Absolutely not. But I'm not leaving you," he forced out, biting back the urge to cave in. I nodded slowly. He took my wet clothes and flung them into the sink. Byungjoo handed me the shampoo and helped me lather up my tangled hair. He poured water over my head to help me rinse it all out. The soap was next, but I didn't have the energy for it. He scrubbed at my cuts, and all the places I couldn't, or wouldn't, reach.

I looked down. The water was a murky grey. I was going to leave a ring of grime around the tub. My days of filth scarring the tub like my scissors had scarred my skin. I would be too anxious to clean it. Byungjoo would clean up after me. Yet again.

I felt the water drain around me. I wanted to stand up, but didn't have the strength for it.

"See how the water drains, baby? See how that dirt goes away? So will your sadness. So will those thoughts. I promise you. Your days will not always be so grey."

I turned to Byungjoo slowly. He was crying softly, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. "I know you're broken, baby. But I love your pieces. It's okay if you're never whole again. We'll get by somehow."

I blinked several times, trying to connect back to earlier in the afternoon. What had happened? What set me off? Byungjoo could sense me struggling. He asked me, "Do you know where you are?" I nodded. "Do you remember what happened?" I shook my head.

Byungjoo sighed. "I shouldn't have said it. I knew the second it left my lips I had fucked up. But it was too late...I said that I hoped your appetite lasted. I'm an idiot. I know how hard food is for you. I shouldn't have commented. It was too much pressure for you. Baby, I'm sorry..."

I leaned forward and took his hand. "It is not your fault. You are allowed to feel, Joo. You are allowed to comment. I should be able to handle your words. I know you don't mean anything by them. You have seen me at my worst. Anyone else, yes, that should have set me off. But not from you. This is on me, sugar. I did this."

Byungjoo merely nodded. He couldn't accept what I had said. He needed to blame himself for some reason, and I couldn't convince him otherwise, no matter how hard I tried. He lifted me out of the tub. He grabbed a towel and dried me off slowly. We walked back into the bedroom. Byungjoo had changed the sheets and pillow cases out. "I thought you might like a fresh start," he shrugged. For the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. That maybe I would get better. That maybe he really would stay.

I looked at the clock. It was 12:25 am. Monday. I had survived.

 

So I ugly sobbed writing this. This is basically my life story out on the internet now for people to see. I feel oddly okay with it. If any of you who may read this are struggling, feel free to message me. I am happy to help in any way I can. Thanks for reading. Feel free to ask questions.


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